


there are stars in our teeth

by silver_atalanta



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, But it gets better!, Explicit Language, Gen, M/M, also his life sucks sorry, yuri growing up from a little shit to a slightly better little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 16:30:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8585695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_atalanta/pseuds/silver_atalanta
Summary: Yuri ends up getting two coaches for the price of one and he's not sure he's happy about it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first time writing in a really long time so if it's rusty sorry about that. I really like Yurio is a character and I tried to create a little bit of a backstory as to why he's so angry all the time. Not that it isn't adorable though because he really does look like a kitten. >:) 
> 
> Also there is mentions of homophobia and alcoholism in this, though not much. Just a heads up!
> 
> Another also--I tend to think of Yurio is like Viktor and Yuuri's angry tiny son so there is no romance between him and them because he's, like, 15. It's more about him finding a sort of family with the ultra gays, Victuuri. 
> 
> Enjoy!

.there are stars in our teeth. 

It’s big news when Viktor Nikiforov returns to Russia. It’s splashed across the media, a thousand pictures of Viktor at old competitions and recent ones, this time next to Katsuki Yuuri. He’s returning, the media announces with much fanfare, to aid his fellow Russians skaters. No longer will he coach Japan and its representing skater.

Of course, the media doesn’t know the whole truth and even if they did they could hardly announce it.

Yuri Plisetsky, however, knows it. It doesn’t mean he’s entirely happy about it. 

“Are you saying,” he grits out, “That I’m going to be trained by the both of you? How are you going to be able to stop sucking face to even coach me?”

Viktor Nikiforov, his bangs falling into his eyes, turns his twinkling eyes to the man glued to his hip. “Yuuri darling will we be sucking face while trying to coach our son?”

Yuuri Katsuki doesn’t even blush which Yuri finds disappointing. He does roll his eyes behind those stupid glasses of his though. “Yurio I promise that we’ll be professional.” 

“But I didn’t ask for you to coach me!” Yuri stabs a vicious finger at Yuuri. “And why do you still call me that stupid name!?”

“Yurio, I really don’t see what the big deal is,” Viktor says. “I decided to come back and coach you and here I am! You even have a bonus with Yuuri! Two coaches are always better than one, no?”

“Spare me you bastards! You two just can’t stand to be away from each other for a few months!” Yuri hisses, stomping his foot and almost falling over because he’s forgotten he’s wearing skates. 

“Well of course!” Viktor sniffs, wrapping an arm so damn casually around Yuuri’s waist. “I’m not about to leave my love for that long! Especially for you, Yurio. You should honestly be thanking Yuuri right now. If he hadn’t decided to come you would still be stuck with Yakov.”

“I heard that!” Yakov rumbles from somewhere behind Yuri, where he is still out on the ice with some skaters.

Yuuri carefully steps out of Viktor’s hold to move closer to Yuri, a small smile on his face. Yuri hates it. “Yurio, I decided to come to Russia because I decided that I should. I think…you do have talent. A lot of it, actually. I’ve always admired you, you know.”

Yuri hates that too. He turns his face away and hopes his long hair hides the faint blush that he can’t help from rising up on his fair skin. “What the fuck ever. Don’t expect me to thank you a lot for it, alright? You said it yourself—it was your choice. Just make sure I win the Grand Prix.”

“As nasty and impatient as ever,” Viktor sighs, draping an arm casually over Yuuri’s shoulder and ugh, gross, they’re already pissing him off with the touching. “Don’t worry Yurio. Now that we’re here maybe you’ll learn to feel something other than anger. Won’t that be the day?”

That…hits a little harder than it should. Yuri turns away so that they can’t see his face, his hands balling into fists inside his gloves. The ice is all cut up before him. Something other than anger, huh?

“Fuck off,” he bites out before he leaps back out into the rink.  
\--  
Under the years of Yakov’s coaching and then the year of Lilia’s, Yuri has definitely learned to take criticism. He’s learned to practice over and over and over until his feet throb in pain and he can’t feel his fingers. There is nothing kind about figure skating, he knows, and certainly nothing too fun about it. 

So why was this moron asking him this?

“Come on Yurio! There’s got to be something you find fun about skating!” Viktor pouts at him. He’s in the rink with him today, this day 1 of practice. His stupid shadow and boyfriend is nearby at the boards, casually listening to them. 

“The only fun thing is winning,” Yuri growls out, yanking his hair back into a ponytail. “Now are you going to start teaching me a routine or what old man?”

“Did you just---did you just call me old?” Viktor gasps, overdramatic and ridiculous. “Yuuri did you hear what he just said about me?”

“You hair is thinning,” Yuuri deadpans. “And you wear cologne that does make you smell old sometimes.”

“Yuur---iiii!” Viktor drags out. “You’re supposed to be on my side! Don’t let this angry child coerce you into siding with him!”

“Who are you calling a child, you premature baldy?” Yuri snaps. “Don’t expect me to actually care that you’re my coach or whatever; I’ll kick your ass either way!”

“Viktor, apparently Yurio is going to kick your ass,” Yuuri says. He’s smiling way too wide, damn it. “Better start training before you end up dead.”  
“Finally you’re being useful pork bowl! Show me my routine already!” Yuri demands, hands on his hips in frustration. 

For a long moment Viktor says nothing and just considers him. Yuri has no idea why he does this but he bares his teeth anyway, tries to look as intimidating and strong as he possibly can under those calculating blue eyes. 

When Viktor finally speaks again, it’s to ask another question that seems like a riddle. “What do you think about when you skate then? What do you feel when you perform a routine?” 

“Adrenaline,” Yuri answers. “What the hell else should I be feeling? I’m a little too busy trying to perform perfectly to give a shit about anything else.”

“Hmm, still caught up on perfect movements then. Yuuri, what did you think when you saw Yurio perform Agape a year ago?” Viktor calls. 

“He did wonderfully,” Yuuri answers, his eyes sliding over to Yuri. “I was afraid that he would win, actually.”

“What was the reason he didn’t win then?” Viktor pushes. “What was the reason that had me declare you, my sexy katsudon, the winner?” 

Yuri wants to interrupt, remind them that hey, he’s still here, why are they acting like he’s not? But he finds that he actually wants to hear this answer, this dreadful answer. He knew it once, on the long walk back from the ice rink in Japan. He knew it when he’d packed his bags and boarded his plane back to Russia. 

He still knows it, somewhere deep in his gut where there’s a graveyard of repressed things. 

“He lost the Agape,” Yuuri says, looking right at him. “He skated perfectly but emotionlessly. There was nothing original that he brought to your piece.”

“What the fuck is the agape?” Yuri explodes, can’t keep it in. “How would you even know?! You were probably too damn scared to watch me! This shit about emotions—“

“Yuri.” Viktor’s voice cuts through him like the cold, his eyes hard like the ice beneath him. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk to your other coach like that. What he has said is true. Have you ever wondered why I went to Japan? Why that video of Yuuri skating my routine impacted me so much?”

“I don’t think about how your stupid mind works,” Yuri scoffs. “Look, this talk about skating with emotions or whatever is pointless. Just give me a routine and I’ll show you what I can do!”

Viktor smiles and it’s too many perfect teeth. “Oh really then? So you don’t mind making up your own routine with your own theme?”

“You trying to say I can’t?” Yuri hisses, unaware that he sounds and looks just like an angry cat. “I’ll do it you bastard! I’ll show you what I can do! You too fatso! Just watch me!” 

He skates away before Viktor can say anything else, but out of the corner of his eye he thinks he sees the stupid Japanese boy smiling. 

He throws himself into practice that day, his first day with his new coaches, and gets a wonderful variety of bruises for his efforts.  
\--  
Here’s the thing—Yuri really doesn’t mean to be so much of an asshole. And he can admit it ok? He’s an asshole, a selfish brat most of the time with an obsession for drama and leopard print shirts. When he opens his mouth sometimes what comes out isn’t what he means to say. It’s gotten him into a hell of a lot of trouble throughout his life, especially in his skating career. Yakov always used to threaten to wash his mouth out with soap and Lilia pretty much glares him into silence if he keeps up his tough boy act. 

“You need to think about how the media will see you,” Viktor told him a few years ago, side by side with him on the ice. “You have to be more approachable, lovable…”

Viktor is side by side on the ice with him again now, but Yuri has not yet heeded his advice. In fact, Viktor is looking more and more like he wants to quit everything and fly back to Japan right now. 

“You’re too stiff!” Viktor hisses at him in Russian after Yuri lands a damn good triple axel. “And sloppy!”

“That was fucking beautiful and you know it you perfectionist!” Yuri growls, stopping to wipe the sweat from his brow. They’ve been training for a few hours now, long enough for Yuri to start to feel fatigued, his feet to throb in his skates. “God how the hell did the piggy stand working under you?!”

Yuuri isn’t here today, apparently out sightseeing in Russia. Yuri wouldn’t exactly say he misses the crybaby, but at least with Yuuri around Viktor seems to be less of a jackass. 

“Yuuri actually heeded my advice and didn’t complain,” Viktor huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and giving Yuri a critical look. “Don’t you want to get better? Actually win the grand prix this time around?”

And ouch, that stung. It resurfaces, all that Yuri has been trying to forget these past few months. No medal, just hard ice and bright lights and throbbing bruises. So close in 4th place but not close enough. Yuri has to bite the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood to stop his face from morphing into something he doesn’t want Viktor to see. 

Viktor seems to take Yuri’s silence as a sign that he agrees as he sighs, suddenly looking tired and older than his 28 years, dropping his crossed arms. “Look Yuri, I’m here to help you. I’m here because I promised you all those years ago that I would make you a routine, and I will.”

“But you’re not! You’re making me make my own—“

“Why do you think Yuuri won the grand prix last year?”

“Because he trained under you! And you gave him that Eros—“

“I did do that but for his free skate…Yuuri and I both did that together. And because of that he made it his own and when he skates it…” Viktor’s eyes get a faraway look to them then, the look he only gets when he’s thinking about his lover. Yuri can’t relate, not at all, but he at least recognizes that look. And it pisses him off even more. 

“I’m not your precious Yuuri though you bastard! I’m me—“ I’m me, he almost says, so don’t compare me to those that I know are better than me. Don’t remind me that I’m already less. 

 

But something about those traitorous inner thoughts must finally show on his face because Viktor’s face softens, if only slightly. 

“Yuri, please. Believe in yourself, alright? I believe in you. So does Yakov, and Mila and Yuuri and Lilia. You can do this. Why do you think you can’t?”

“I fucking know I can!” Yuri shouts, his chest abruptly feeling like its being split open. Will his heart finally spill out on the ice? “Why are you making it sound like I have no confidence? That I’m weak?! You want me to show you what I can do? Because I will!”

And despite his aching body, the long strands of hair stuck to his neck and forehead, Yuri starts a routine. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, not really. He knows it’s awkward, his arm movements and his jumps, but it isn’t a copy of one of Viktor’s routines like he used to practice all the time. He guesses he and the piglet have something in common in that. 

When he stutters to a stop in the center of the rink, hands clenched at his sides in angry fists, he glares over at Viktor to see him beaming back at him. 

“Oh Yurio, that wasn’t bad!”

“Damn right it wasn’t!”

“In fact, I think you finally found your theme!”

“Yeah, rage.” Because that has to be what he’s feeling right now, this unbearable warmth in his hollow chest. He’s felt it before, too many times, and the last time it had been this bad was when he’d found out Viktor had run off to Japan to train some nobody. 

“That wasn’t rage,” Viktor smiles at him, and his eyes are unbearably kind in that moment. “That was passion.”  
\--  
To Yuri, passion is something foreign. It is something he thinks exists solely in romance, in the way two idiots look at each other like Viktor and Yuuri do. 

“But isn’t ice skating a passion of yours?” Mila says when he tells her what Viktor told him. “Why do you dedicate yourself to so much practice and effort if you feel nothing for it?”

On that, for the first time and the last time ever, Yuri agrees with her. He loves ice skating, he’s loved it ever since he was just a little brat and his grandfather had taken him to the rink near his house. It had seemed so magical to him, watching people glide across the frozen water, their bodies twisted in elegance and agony.

Skating had just been a hobby until his grandfather died when he was 11. After that all Yuri had left of the man he loved the most was the sport which his grandfather had loved. So in his memory, he had started taking it seriously, going to rinks and training by himself or with others until he gained enough notice to enter competitions, to gain coaches and medals. 

But more than in honor of his grandfather now, skating has become a catharsis; a way to numb everything around him until all that is left is burning muscles and ice. His mind empty but for the routine and his heart pounding in ways it never does off of the ice.

Skating is the only time when he feels like he might actually be alive, but it is hard to admit that, even to himself. 

But he knows it’s true every night when the rink is closed for the evening and he trudges up the familiar streets to a cold house on the corner, all the lights off, always off. 

Inside it will be empty. Most times it is. When it isn’t he will wish that it is. When it isn’t every light is on and it’s too bright and too much, the bottles of alcohol all illuminated on the tables, the voice of the woman he gave birth to him colder and rougher than a fall on the ice. 

He always goes straight to his room, whether he is home alone or she is there. He puts in his headphones and searches the internet for new clothes that he doesn’t need. He looks up funny pictures and laughs until he cries at them. 

He always cries when he laughs. He doesn’t question why. 

Tonight he looks up the word passion. Stares at it in the dark of his room.  
pas•sion  
/ˈpaSHən/  
noun  
noun: passion; plural noun: passions; noun: Passion; noun: the Passion  
1\. 1. strong and barely controllable emotion

For some reason, the word hurts him and not much hurts Yuri Plietsky. Not much at all.  
\--  
Yuuri is out on the ice when Yuri arrives at the rink, sleepy eyed with a bad bed head. For a moment Yuri pauses on his way to the locker room to watch the Japanese man skate. There’s no denying the fluidity of his movements, the way the ice seems to be curving around him, under his feet and in his control. There’s no denying that there’s something…strong about the performance, something stirring. The same thing that won Yuuri the gold at the grand prix, the same thing that had Yuuri kissing Viktor on the podium as cameras flashed and people shouted. 

Love is a strong and terrible and wonderful thing. Yuri hates Yuuri a little bit more now as the routine is finished, Yuuri striking his final triumphant pose in the middle of the rink. Yuri can just imagine the cheers, the gold medal around his neck.

Yuri hurries into the locker room before Yuuri sees him watching, but his eyes still sting. His heart still aches.  
\--  
“Where’s Viktor?” Yuri demands and Yuuri smiles like Yuri isn’t using his most threatening tone on him. 

“He’ll be here soon. He went out drinking last night and, well….you know how it goes.”

“That lazy drunk bastard,” Yuri grumbles even as he starts to warm up, laps and careful jumps throughout the rink. Yuuri is watching him from the corner of the ice and Yuri tries his best to ignore him. He doesn’t want him here, never wanted him here. Wishes he never existed sometimes, even if he feels bad for thinking that stupid thought.  
By the time Yuuri speaks again Yuri is taking a small break all the way across the ice from him. “So your theme is passion?” he has to talk loudly to say it, as by now there are other skaters on the ice, stretching and fretting over their own routines. Yuri curses and reluctantly skates over to the Japanese boy, still making sure to maintain some strong distance between them. 

“Yeah what of it? It’s better than your lame theme of love.”

Yuuri just smiles and without his glasses on Yuri notices how his eyes crinkle at the corners. “I think it suits you perfectly. Have you come up with any moves or anything yet?”

“Why the hell do you want to know?”

“Because I want to help you.” Yuuri says it so easily, too easily. Like it’s really true. “I came here with Viktor for you, after all.”

“No you came here just to be with Viktor. You don’t give a shit about me.”

The rink is loud now, muttered conversations in Russian and English and the scrape of blades and bodies hitting the ice. But still Yuri thinks it too quiet in the wake of what he’s said and the way Yuuri’s expression contorts into something angry. Passionate, his heart whispers for him. 

“How could you think that about me? Despite what has happened between us I still consider you to be a good person. A good friend. Or did you forget about those weeks you spent in Japan under my parent’s roof?”

Late nights around a hotpot and long soaks in an onsen. Watching Viktor make a fool of himself and smiling about it, every line of his body relaxed. Talking to Yuuri about stupid things, like fashion and cats. Feeling happiness so large and deep it threatened to swallow him whole. 

“I’m not your friend, idiot,” Yuri rasps out even though he knows it sounds weak and pathetic. He means it he means it he means it. “Don’t act like you know me.”

Yuuri doesn’t say anything stupid like ‘yes I do!’ or ‘I want to!’ Instead he skates closer until he can reach out and place his hand on Yuri’s shoulder, a gentle and careful touch. 

There’s a determined fire in his brown eyes that Yuri wants to snuff out and keep for himself, to warm himself on the cold fractured days he tumbles through.“You are going to become a champion and make everyone proud,” Yuuri tells him, and it’s so…matter of fact. Like it’s already a future set in stone, the complete and utter truth. Anything else is impossibility. He can only ever skate to win. “Unless you think you can’t?”

“I can,” Yuri says immediately, feeling something inside of him hook and pull. Yuri’s hand on his shoulder is warm and so are his eyes. But right now he can’t hate him for it, not right now.  
\--  
By the time Viktor shows up he has come up with some moves with Yuuri’s help, even though he claims to Viktor that he came up with them all by himself. By the glance Viktor shoots to Yuuri Yuri can tell that the other Russian doesn’t believe it for a second.

But that doesn’t bother Yuri all that much.  
\--  
He doesn’t know when it starts to happen. The old man and his boyfriend are his coaches on the ice but off the ice they start to hang out together. 

After a hard practice one day they take him out for ice cream. If it weren’t for the promise of free ice cream he wouldn’t have come, he tells them over and over again on the way there. But each time it sounds more and more flimsy until he stops saying it at all and just eats his damn ice cream. 

Then there was the movie. Yuri doesn’t go to see anything that often and he casually told Viktor about it one day during down time. The result was getting dragged to see a new action thriller the next day with a beaming Viktor and a softly smiling Yuuri. The movie wasn’t bad and kept him engaged enough not to complain about the way Viktor and Yuuri held hands the entire time and shared a few kisses in the dark of the theater while he was right next to them. 

But they got him some more popcorn on the way out so he decided to not bring it up too much and told them he forgave them repeatedly for scarring him for life.  


Viktor tells him he’s teaching him about love. 

Yuuri tells him that it’s Viktor’s fault because he’s a fiend that can’t keep his hands to himself. 

They smile at each other a lot, Yuri notices, silent conversations passing between them where their hands brush on purpose and their eyes meet. Yuri is learning to look away when it happens, and he’s stopped feeling so annoyed. It happens so damn much with these lovebirds anyway that it gets exhausting being pissed at them all the time. 

So he tells himself, but sometimes he goes home to his cold dark house smiling. He gets messages from Mila about a shopping trip and Yuuri sends him a picture of an ugly cat wearing an ugly sweater. He doesn’t have to look at pictures to laugh anymore and he hasn’t cried in weeks.  
\--  
Viktor says his finished routine is lacking something still. “It’s gorgeous, it really is. But it’s…I don’t know? How do you feel when you skate it?”

This again. Yuri is tired of feelings. Why couldn’t anyone see that?

“I was thinking I need to finish this routine.”

“Hmm that’s the problem. Think of something that makes you feel passionate.”

“Like me killing you with my skates?”

“Think about that feeling you get when you lose,” Mila titters to him from where she skates nearby. “You can do that right?”

“Bitch! I will—“

“Yurio.” Yuuri skates up to them, stopping by Viktor’s side. “What makes you happy?”

For a second the question paralyzes him. It’s a stupid question, he tells himself, that is why you’re so stunned. “Duh, I said before! Winning, skating, awesome shirts…” 

“If you focused on any of that do you think it will make you skate this routine better?” Viktor’s eyes are too invasive. Yuri doesn’t know how Yuuri can stand them. 

“Fuck you! I skated this routine great—“

“What if I told you that if you don’t skate this routine the way I want right this instant Yuuri and I are going to pack our bags and fly back to Japan?”

Yuuri gives Viktor a sharp look. “I don’t think that’s—“

“Yuuri, please.” Viktor, for once, doesn’t look at his boyfriend. All his attention is on the teen frozen in front of him. “Well Yuri? What’s your answer?”

And Yuri is pissed, he’s beyond pissed. A baseless threat, a cruel line from a selfish man. He wants to punch Viktor in his pretty face and then punch himself for doing it, for falling for his stupid goading. They can’t leave him, not now. Not when the grand prix is so close and it’s still warm enough outside to get ice cream. There’s a new movie at the cinema. He never took Yuuri to his favorite restaurant. 

He wants to say so many things, most of them terrible and disgusting, anything to get rid of the itch he feels under his skin right now. He wants to rage and rage until the ice melts and he’s left standing in cold water that can pull him under and hide the moisture the cold gathers into his eyes. 

Instead he skates away and gets into his starting position. Viktor’s eyes are sharp and Yuuri’s eyes are wide and encouraging. 

He takes a deep breath and he moves.  
\--  
At his first competition he misses his quad. It pisses him off to the point that he storms off the stage before the audience can stop cheering for him, his ears only filled with the rabbit beat of his heart. Viktor is there waiting for him, Yuuri hovering like a moon in the background. Viktor doesn’t look happy but he doesn’t look sad either. 

“I know,” he grinds out, stomping in his skates to the kiss and cry. Viktor and Yuuri flank him as he sits, looking down at the ground as he gets his scores 

He gets second place, despite his mistake. He’ll go the grand prix and his coaches hug him together, arms locked tight with him in the middle. It’s very warm, he thinks, as he closes his eyes and exhales for what feels like the first time since he got in the arena.  
\--  
“We won’t leave, you know. Even if you lose.” Yuuri is too kind. Yuri’s always known this and made fun of it. Now he takes advantage of it. 

“If I lose you’re staying to train me for another season,” he says and he doesn’t lean away when Yuuri reaches out to stroke his hair like someone would a cat. “I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll crash your family’s onsen again.”

“You don’t have to crash anything Yurio. You’re always welcome there.”

His skin is ridiculously fair and it’s cold. That’s the reason Yuri comes up with for the blush that rises to his cheeks. 

He doesn’t have a reason for his smile though. 

He’s starting to wonder if he needs one.  
\--  


He wins the grand prix, although his routine itself is rather blurry. He remembers only the feeling of flying and the rush of blood. He remembers thinking of the way Viktor told him to move his arms and the way Yuuri giggled when he starting flapping them like chicken wings. 

Right before he stepped on the ice Viktor had told him again that he and Yuuri would leave if he doesn’t succeed. Instead of getting angry he had pulled Viktor into a hug and Viktor had hugged him back so hard that it almost hurt. 

Yuuri had squeezed his hand and told him that he would win with that certainty again, that steely determination. 

And he had won. 

The idea itself doesn’t really sink in until he is surrounded by cameras and Viktor is nudging him to speak. 

What he says surprises even him. “I couldn’t have done this by myself. I have my coaches to thank for it. My friends.”

He doesn’t cry but when his eyes water he blames it on the cold again. Viktor and Yuuri both laugh and their bright expressions and their smiles are enough to light everything up inside Yuri, a transfer of happiness and joy and pride. 

He smiles for the cameras and it is real, real, real.  
\--  
They leave to go back to Japan, despite what they said sometimes, despite what Yuri wanted to hope. And Yuri does cry, but he does it at the rink. Mila finds him and she holds him, sings him one of his favorite Russian songs. But her voice sucks and Yakov takes him out for ice cream. 

“Will you be ok Yura?” Yakov asks him before they part, his eyes on Yuri’s house behind them. The lights are this time. Yakov has a suspicion for what that means but Yuri nods, and he finds that he means it. After all, he is young and he has a strong future ahead of him. Yuuri had just called him from Japan and told him they landed and he had responded with a picture of his middle finger. The scandalized face Yuuri had sent back to him in a snapchat is still leaving a lingering smile on his lips, in his red and dry eyes. 

“I’m good old man. What makes you think I wouldn’t be?”  
\--  
“Only gays ice skate,” his mother tells him, bottle in one hand. Her face is one long line of scorn. “You’re not my son.”

Yuri doesn’t answer her this time. He realizes that he doesn’t need to, that she isn’t worth it. He isn’t gay and even if he was so what? As long as he ends up happy, as long as he ends up warm, as long as he understands love and passion and the scrape of blades on the ice.

He could go for a dip in an onsen, he thinks, already booking tickets for Japan on his phone.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the ice skating inaccuracies as I can't skate at all and have no desire ever to skate because it's terrifying. And if it's rushed I can't say I care because to be honest I wrote this in like 2 hours. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


End file.
